Tears and Rain Revisited
by Gabi-hime
Summary: Working revision of the long completed fanfic. 1st Runner Up Fanfic of the Year, 2001 RKRC Awards - Seta Soujiro, the Tenken, The nature of Truth and emotional solitude. 'Remember, the future is always beautiful because you never know what might happen.'
1. Entrance of the Rabbit Girl: What the Ra...

Tears and Rain (Revisited)

Chapter One – The Entrance of the Rabbit Girl: What the Rain Brings

  


By Gabi (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

http://www.pinkfluffy.net/rurouni/fanfiction/

Tears and Rain Revisited exists as an experiment for more or less my benefit and the benefit of anyone who may really like the story but find it's prose rough in a lot of places. Revisited is a complete and full rewrite of the series I started two years ago with a more mature and established style. That being said, I still think the original is still worth reading, especially for those who can't wait to find out "what happened next" or are simply interested in my creative process to see how a story evolves under my hands over a course of months and really, years. The orginal story still has merit. It did win Runner-up at the 2001 RKRC Fanfiction Awards Fanfic of the Year Award as well as tying for first runner-up in the Action/Adventure category. Finally I'm going back to give Tears and Rain the kind of rework it deserves, but I'm leaving the original up, if only for nostalgia's sake. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and any comments on the revisions or just on the story at all (if you're a first-time reader) are welcome. Once again, thank you for reading, and for people who are already fans of the series, thank you for your support. It makes all my hard work seem a little more justified ^_^.

  
  


The road was deserted. He'd passed no one the entire day. Now, as dusk drew on, he wondered if he would be sleeping out in the open again. There was a faint rumble of thunder and he glanced at the sky to see ominous clouds, dark on the horizon. 

"It looks like I'll be sleeping outside in the rain again," he observed aloud to himself. Some things would never change. 

Still, despite the threat of rain, the boy travelling along the lonesome road was smiling in a peaceful, relaxed manner. He looked travel worn, but the miles he had walked did not make him look any older. His gi was a little worn around the sleeves, and his tabi were becoming quite thin over the heels, but his face was still that of a boy's. His hair was gray black and cropped close to his head, and his eyes were a clear and unclouded blue. With his benign smile, and slight figure, he looked no older than fourteen. 

Travelers he passed often wondered how a boy his age had become a ronin. Even this far into the Meiji Era, he still carried a katana thrust through his obi. He had no wakazachi, but the katana alone was enough to warn most people away from him. He didn't travel in major cities, so he had yet to have a dispute with the police, but he knew very well that the presence of a sword on a non-officer was a punishable offence. Still, he carried a katana anyway, unwilling to relinquish this tie to his past. He would need it, after all, if he were to keep the promise that had started him out on the journey in the first place. 

The rain started lightly, a gentle patter on the top of his head. He accelerated his pace somewhat and was rewarded by the faint glow of lights ahead of him. There was a lone building in front of him, likely a roadside inn. He had a little money, and it had been a long time since he had slept in a bed. He decided that if it were an inn, he would stop there for the night. A warm meal and shelter from the storm would be worth more at this point than the few coins rattling together inside the pouch in his gi. 

A much more menacing roll of thunder urged him on, and he hoped that at least the inn, if it were an inn, would provide a rest for his weary bones, if not for his weary mind. 

* 

The building was an inn, and a very comfortable one at that. He shared the common room with only one other guest, who did not seem particularly talkative. The boy sat by the fire, in a spare robe, while his own clothes dried out. He had been provided with a plate of food and a jug of sake sat on a table near him. He ate, but did not drink the sake. Instead, he asked for water, and the innkeeper replied that it would be a few moments because it had to be drawn from the well in the yard. 

He was only paying cursory attention to the innkeeper, and was instead studying the fire. His attention was attracted when the innkeeper began cursing. He turned back to see the innkeeper, a burly, middle aged man, shaking his fist at an adolescent girl dressed in a filthy oversized smock. Her hair was knotted back into a ragged bun and she was barefooted. She was dirty, and looked underfed, but the most noticeable feature on her face was a large blue-black bruise on the left side of her head. Despite the threatening gestures the man made, she looked defiant. She stood stock still in front of him and outright ignored the fact that he had just demanded she fetch water from the well. The storm was fierce and she had no desire to go outside in the maelstrom, especially since she wasn't allowed near the fire to warm or dry herself. 

Finally frustrated with her defiance, the innkeeper opened the door and physically threw her out into the rain and lobbed the bucket after her. He warned her not to come back until she had drawn fresh water from the well, and slammed the door, locking it after him. He turned back to the two men beside the fire muttering something about stupid servants. 

"You have to teach them that way or they won't learn at all," he observed to his two guests. 

The other man beside the fire nodded, wetting his lips against the dryness of the room. He had sharp, sly little eyes and a weak mouth. 

The innkeeper moved to return to the kitchen, but the boy stopped him with a softly intoned question, "How did she get that bruise?" 

Eyeing the katana that lay inches away from the boy's hand, the innkeeper nervously smiled, 

"She's a clumsy oaf. She fell down the cellar stairs the other day. Spilt a jug of my nicest sake too. She's more trouble than she's worth." 

The innkeeper was happy to see that the boy was still smiling as he turned away. He had apparently been satisfied with the answer. The boy simply settled a bit farther back into his chair and stared into the fire. 

* 

He woke early, earlier than any of the members of the household, or at least he supposed. He gathered his things swiftly and quietly, and was glad to be back in his own clothes despite how worn they might be. The storm had cleared over night and he could see the pale dawn through a slit in the window covering. He had few belongings, so packing was easy. He had only to pocket his small purse and tuck his katana into his obi. This accomplished, he padded silently down the stairs. 

He wanted to be clear of the place as soon as possible. It stirred memories and feelings in him that he had locked away in a box and thrown into a deep well long ago. Despite his promise, despite his journey, he had no desire to open that box ever again. 

He had paid the night before, and although he had been promised a cold breakfast, he did not want to stay to wait for it. Briefly he wondered about the girl, but then pushed her from his mind. This was not a road he was ready to travel. She would have to fend for herself. If she knew what was good for her, she would run away and never come back. 

He slid the outer door open quietly, not wanting to disturb the rest of the household. He was just about to set off on his way when he heard a muffled cry from around the corner of the house. He felt a chill run through him, although the smile never left his face. He closed his eyes briefly, as if making a decision, and then silently slid the door shut. 

He was not surprised by what he found behind the house. The big innkeeper had his hand over the girl's mouth, and although she feebly squirmed, she couldn't get away from him. The innkeeper was cursing at her lowly, but not so softly that the boy couldn't make out what he was saying. 

"You're lucky you're still alive! When a man like that tells you to do something for him, you do it! It's not like you're delicate and frail! You should have given him what he wanted!" he shook her so that her teeth rattled, "Do you realize how powerful and important he is? He's a member of the government!" 

The girl struggled against him pitifully. He held her off the ground so there was little she could do to fight him. 

"Girls all over this prefecture would jump at the chance to give him favors, but you! You! He could have me jailed for this! You stupid worthless piece of shit! How could you bite him? I own you and you're going to learn to do what I say or I'll kill you." 

The innkeeper shook the girl again so hard that she went limp like a rag doll. He threw her down and she landed on her head and was very still. He was apparently not satisfied with this punishment though, because he bent to pick up a board from the yard. 

When he straightened, he found the boy standing in front of him, smiling pleasantly.   
  
"Please don't touch her again." 

The innkeeper twitched and he looked nervous at being caught in the act by the samurai boy, "I'm just disciplining a servant, sir. Nothing to see here. I'm sure you'd find you room much more comfortable than the stable yard at dawn," he wet his lips but he made no motion to throw down the board or stand down. 

The boy's smile was still as serene and pleasant as ever, "You don't understand," his voice was soft and polite as moved his hand over the hilt of his katana, "If you don't stop, I'll kill you." 

The innkeeper's eyes widened, "Y-you don't understand what she did. She deserves this, the wretched thing. She bit the commissioner! He'll probably have me thrown in jail! She has got to learn her place! She's mine, and she has to learn be a receptive girl who doesn't sauce back," this brought the sour look back to his face and he kicked her prone form. 

The boy moved in an instant, without thought. Even if he had been looking, the innkeeper would not have seen him move. The boy did not allow himself to be that sloppy, even against someone who posed as little threat to him as the innkeeper did. He drew the katana and stuck in one smooth motion, covering the distance between them in less than a blink of an eye. He left the innkeeper where he fell in the mud, as he preformed a matter-of-fact chiburi, flicking the blood from his katana before resheathing it. Even as he did, he wondered to himself about his actions. They certainly didn't seem to fit him, but perhaps this was the first definite step on his new journey. Perhaps. 

He scooped the small waif girl up and shifted most of the weight of his new burden to his left shoulder before setting off, back around the building, to the road. 

As the morning came into full light, any who passed him would see that he was still benignly smiling. 

* 

At noon he stopped to rest underneath a large tree beside of the road. There was a stream nearby so he gathered a palm full of water and brought it to the girl, who was still out cold. He splashed a little on her face and she stirred slightly, bringing a hand to her brow. All of the sudden, she went rigid and curled up into a ball reflexively. He kept a gentle grip on her shoulder and shook her lightly while he assured her that she was safe. After a few minutes of coaxing, she uncurled slowly and rolled over to examine her surroundings and new companion. 

"Where am I?" she demanded, rubbing the new bruise on her leg gingerly, "And how did I get here?" 

"You're about half a day's journey north from that inn," he answered pleasantly, "I carried you here because I'm afraid the innkeeper would have killed you if I had left you there." 

She was a bit perturbed by his smile, but tried to ignore it, "You saw what he was doing to me? The last thing I remember, he was shaking me . . . I was sure that he was going to kill me," she added quietly. 

"I stopped him," he answered simply. 

Her brows furrowed, "Why did you help me?" 

He tilted his chin upwards slightly, and looked a bit puzzled, although he continued to smile, "I wasn't exactly sure when I did it, but now that I've had time to think about it, I've decided that it's because you remind me of someone." 

Her eyes widened, "Are you?" she halted and blushed, "Are you?" she couldn't seem to be able to finish her thought out loud. Finally she squealed, "I'm not that kind of girl!" 

He looked blankly puzzled. 

She stabbed an accusing finger at him, "I know why you brought me out here to the middle of nowhere!" 

He seemed to catch on finally, but he simply shook his head, "Maa, I just thought you were in trouble and needed help. You can leave whenever you want." 

She blinked and looked a bit incredulous, "Really?" 

"Hai," he smiled pleasantly. 

"You helped me just because I was in trouble? Just 'cause I needed help?" 

"Hai." 

"You don't want anything in return?" 

He sweatdropped and wondered what she had to give, "Iie." 

"No one 's ever done that for me," she thought soberly. She felt a bit sheepish for harassing and accusing him. She bowed her head in both apology and thankfulness, "Arigatou gozaimasu." 

He turned away, "Now you're free. You can go wherever you like," he said, making a vague gesture with his hand that was supposed to encompass all of the surrounding countryside. 

She blinked, "But, I'm coming with you! That's why you brought me along, isn't it? You said you wanted to help me when I was in trouble!" 

He looked over his shoulder, smile as pleasant as ever, "You can't come with me. I'm on a journey." 

She stood up and faced him, hands on her hips. "I don't have anywhere else to go!" 

He looked at her curiously, "Don't you have parents? A family?" 

"Who do you think sold me to the inn in the first place!" she snapped. 

"Then go to the city. I'm sure you could find work there," he offered helpfully. 

She balled her hands up angrily. He didn't care about her at all. He just sat there listening to her troubles and kept smiling. "That bastard," she thought, seething. She'd like to kick him in the teeth! 

"Do you know what kind of jobs homeless girls my age get in the city?" she fumed, "I've heard horrible stories from men at the inn!" 

For a moment she looked as if she were going to tackle him in an attempt to convince him. He raised his hands in defense, "All right," he relented, smiling blandly, "You can travel with me until we can find some place else for you to stay." 

She was apparently satisfied with this response, because she smiled brightly and nodded, "Fair enough. I'm Kuri," she said, formally bowing. 

The boy's smile was continuous, like a light some one had forgotten to turn off. He bowed in turn, "Seta Soujiro." 

She bounced on one foot, "Now that introductions are over, Soujiro-kun, let's get going. I want to be as far away from that place as possible," she set off at a quick march. 

He paused briefly at the breach in respect but decided to let it slide. It didn't matter that much. People were always misjudging his age. He wondered, for a moment, if he had made the right decision, then turned to see her bouncing up and down about fifty feet down the road. 

"Haiyaku Soujiro-kun!" she called, waving her arms, "Haiyaku!" 

Then he realized that there had been no decision to make. 

*

Author's Note:

Because I revised this chapter quite some time ago, the original no longer exists to compare it with. Going over to Tears and Rain proper will only net you a slightly altered version of this chapter. The full rewrites begin at chapter four. Don't worry, you didn't miss anything good in the first drafts :P  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. After the Rain: The Price of a New Set o...

Tears and Rain (Revisited)

  


Chapter Two – After the Rain: The Price of a New Set of Clothes

By Gabi (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

http://www.pinkfluffy.net/rurouni/fanfiction/

  


They'd been travelling along the road for the better part of two days, and the girl, Kuri, had been chatting amiably the whole time. Occasionally she lost herself in huge tangents so wide that he himself had difficulty following her. Soujiro quickly learned to tune her out and instead busy himself with his own reflections. He was always careful to feign interest though. She got quite angry when she thought he wasn't paying attention to her. Still, she seemed to like hearing the sound of her own voice, so his occasional agreements were all the encouragement she needed to continue her observations about the state of the world. Despite the fact that he only listened to her about half of the time, he still enjoyed her constant prattle. Her voice was pleasant, and it filled up the silence. It was an excellent background for his own musings, and despite the fact that it shifted constantly from happy to angry to downtrodden to defiant, he found it all somewhat soothing. After only a few minutes travelling with her, he had decided that she had enough emotions for the both of them. 

Still it was very reassuring, having her around. She didn't seem to mind his constant smile, and did not press him about his katana. She didn't even care about the specifics of her emancipation. He found her genuine offer of friendship unfamiliar and foreign, something that would have to be thought out carefully. Of course, Shishio had been his friend, and Yumi had been like an older sister, but they had both known him as the Tenken. His identity as a killer had dominated his whole existence, and he had defined himself by it. Friends can only get so close to a killer, no matter how loyal he may be. Somewhere, in the backs of their minds, they never forget what he is, and they never leave themselves completely unguarded, literally or figuratively. 

Soujiro the hitokiri had had several friends among the Jupongatana, but he had thrown that all away when left Shishio's service. He was building his life anew, in an attempt to build it correctly this time. Soujiro the ronin had never had anyone simply offer him their friendship and ask for nothing in return. It made him feel strange. It was like the warm pleasant emotion he had continually felt while in Shishio's service, but it was different. It was somehow fuller, yet sharper and more focused at the same time. It made him want to smile; unfortunately, he could not express this properly as he was already smiling. Still, it is perhaps true that as they trudged along the road heading deeper and deeper into the Kanagawa Prefecture, his smile was more sincere and honest, as opposed to being an absent and benign wall of defense. 

Suddenly he was drawn out of his musings by the spirited repetition of his name. 

"Soujiro-kun!" prodded Kuri, scrutinizing him, "Are you listening to me?" 

Not wanting to provoke her anger (because despite the fact that listening to her emotional gambit reassured him, he preferred her vibrant, eager tone because it seemed to conjure an echo of the same feeling in him -- a reaction that intrigued him) he nodded briskly, "Hai." 

"Then you agree with me?" she asked, fussing with the knot of hair on the back of her head. 

Here, he was stuck. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be agreeing with. The last thing he remembered was something about high rice prices and the wealthy exploiting the poor. If he didn't agree, then she'd demand to know why, and he'd be in an even tighter spot. He decided that it was safest to simply agree this time and pay closer attention the next time she asked a question. He doubted that the question was particularly important. None of the others of the morning had been. He nodded and smiled pleasantly, "Hai." 

"That's great!" she announced, "We'll stop at the next town we come across then," she looked quite pleased with the situation. 

Soujiro was completely lost. He expressed his puzzlement without thinking, "Why?" 

Kuri looked a bit frustrated, "What do you mean why? To get new clothes for me. It's not like we're going to find some hanging from a tree, or something. Soujiro no baka, you weren't listening to me, were you?" 

He sweatdropped a little, and his smile looked almost strained, "Sumimasen Kuri-san, I was thinking about something important." 

She looked a little wrathful, but then she softened when she realized that she'd shaken his mask an imperceptible bit, "Daijoubu, daijoubu but you have to agree with me. I can't go around the countryside in this. They'll try and take me to an orphanage or something or at least back to my family. If I look like a servant, then someone is bound to catch me when you're not looking and make me into one again." 

He nodded absently, "Hai." 

"At least, if we're going to travel a long ways, I need shoes. It's okay on country roads, but in the city I'll have to be careful. Hey! Are you listening to me? What are you thinking about now?" 

His smile was unruffled and vacant, yet still as agreeable as ever, "I was just thinking that your new clothes will probably use up the rest of the money I have." 

This apparently didn't disturb him at all. 

Kuri let out a squeal of dismay and looked quite troubled for a few moments before she put on a very determined face. 

"Don't worry, Soujiro-kun. I'll think of something." 

* 

As luck would have it, they found themselves at the outskirts of a fairly large town only an hour of prattle later. Kuri was excited, as she hadn't been into a town for a long time, and had never been into a town as a free citizen. She chirped and bounced around Soujiro like a nervous and demented rabbit until he assured her that the town was going nowhere and that she could explore it for at least a solid hour while he plotted their next course. This promise quieted her exuberant display into a sort of repressed glee and with this partially out of her system, she found it easier to actually observe the people and scenery around her. 

The town was not particularly grand. The streets were narrow and muddy, so she tried to stay on the narrow wooden sidewalk where she could. Several people on the street paused to stare at her in her dirty, ragged clothes. Soujiro's blatantly unconcealed katana also elicited a lot of unwanted attention. She tried to ignore it as he did and concentrate on the rest of the town. 

There were two dozen smells on the air, all mixed together in a bizarre and sometimes unpleasant melange. She knew her own scent was among them, and this embarrassed her. She was in great need of a bath. She determined that she would have a bath at the bathhouse in town before she put on any of her new clothes. It wouldn't do to get them dirty with her body before even going outside. That was stupid. She announced this to Soujiro and he didn't seem very surprised by this observation. 

"I assumed you were going to bathe, Kuri-san," he smiled pleasantly, "But I am afraid we have a problem." 

She ran over the issue in her mind again, but could find no faults. Curiously, she asked, "Nan desu ka?" 

He looked slightly uncomfortable, although his smile never wavered, "None of the stores in town are going to let you in like you are." 

She blushed a bright red and stared intently at the ground, "I know. That's why I wanted to bathe." 

"But what will you wear after you bathe? You can't put on your old smock. That would just get you dirty again, Kuri-san." 

She nodded, catching his meaning, "I can't go to the store until after I have a bath and I don't have anything to wear to the store after I bath." 

"Which means that you can't go to the store. We're stuck Kuri-san," he shook his head, but kept his voice level and affable, "Gomen nasai, don't feel too badly about it." 

She turned the problem over and over in her mind, worrying it like a small dog will worry a rat. Suddenly she was presented with a very simple solution. 

"You go to the store for me. I don't have to go in. You just go get what I need." 

He was surprised by this answer, but it seemed feasible. Then he realized why he hadn't thought of it himself, "Ano, Kuri-san, I don't know what to buy for a girl." 

And suddenly, her brilliant solution was blown to bits, and she couldn't tell him what to buy, because she wasn't sure of all the particulars herself. She just knew that most women wore pretty kimono. She rubbed the back of her head in frustration, pulling at the knot of hair. Then she had it. It was simple, easy, and solved more than one problem at the same time. 

"Just buy me whatever you need." 

"Nani?" he asked. That was certainly not the reaction he'd expected. 

"Buy me boy's clothes," she reiterated, "I'll pretend to be a boy. It's all I can think of, and I need clothes. Anyway, people won't try to bully me so much if they think I'm a boy. They won't ask questions about me travelling with you either. Plus, if anyone ever comes looking for me, they won't think to look for a boy," she looked quite pleased with herself and her problem solving skills. 

Soujiro nodded. She did have several valid points, and it was an easy remedy. "Hai. Good idea, Kuri-san." 

She held up her wrist to his, "Just remember I'm a little smaller than you are." 

He nodded again politely and added with his personable smile, "I'll take you to the baths, then go and buy your new clothes. I'll be back before you're finished, I promise." 

She squealed happily, "You're great Soujiro-kun! I knew I'd think of something!" 

* 

Kuri felt cleaner than she imagined possible. It was a fresh, new feeling. She'd washed well, all over, removing all the dirt and filth from her body. Then she'd tackled the knotted mat of hair at the back of her head. Now her hair was loose and wet. She'd brushed it until all the mats and tangles had disappeared. Unencumbered, the straight brown-black mass ran to the middle of her back. 

She was happy to find a plain string in the brown paper package that was left for her in the dressing room. She pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and knotted the string around it twice, rolling and tucking the ends of the string into the loop. 

The package also contained white linen undergarments, which she knew would take some getting used to. She donned them quickly, knotting the strings tight. She smiled, surveying the package. He'd even thought to get her cloth wrappings to bind herself. She tied the bindings tightly, trimming her slim figure down even more, although it was difficult starting them on her own. She stopped to regard herself in the mirror and her androgynous shape distressed her to some degree. Here she was, with her first set of real clothes, and even now she was loosing the little femininity that working at the inn had spared her. She sighed softly to herself and wondered if she would ever get to move gracefully like a butterfly in a beautifully colored kimono. Then she shook her head. She didn't know how to move gracefully anyway. A kimono would be wasted on the likes of her. Still . . . she banished the thought to the back of her mind and busied herself with dressing. 

There was no collared undershirt in the package, apparently the store hadn't carried them. Soujiro had instead provided a linen body sleeve that tied in the back at three places. Tying this was also a pain, but eventually she got it on and secure. The undershirt exposed her neck and her collarbone, but covered any cleavage that might have been visible despite the wrappings. 

_I don't even look like a girl_, she thought despairingly, _I look like a boy. I bet no one will ever be able to tell. I'd like to be pretty . . ._ she cut the thought off again and fished in the package, deciding to don the gi next. She knew he was outside waiting for her. She didn't want to keep him waiting any longer than necessary. 

She pulled on the gi, and the textured dark green fabric felt nice next to her skin. The gi fell open across her chest, but it didn't expose anything that might reveal her gender, thanks to the binding and linen wrap. She didn't allow herself any wistful thoughts about the gi. Thinking unhappy thoughts was probably not going to net her prettier clothes. Besides, as she had already discussed with Soujiro, she had no idea how to wear the pretty clothes anyway. This longing was pointless. 

Her hakama came next, and the cream colored garment fit nicely, although she worried for several minutes about lacing the long strings. Finally, she just tucked them into the hakama, and hoped the obi would cover them. She could not help but inwardly berate herself over this as well. 

_And you want girl's clothes_, part of her mind scoffed. _You don't even know what to do with boy's clothes._

The obi was also cream colored, although she had no trouble putting it on. Its complexity did not elude her. 

_I ought to be happy that Soujiro cared enough to buy new clothes for me at all. I'm being ungrateful. No one else my entire life has done something like this for me, and all I can do is think about how it could be better._

And then the other part of her mind took over. 

_But it's for him too. I'd like to be pretty. I want to be pretty . . . I bet he likes . . . I bet he likes . . ._

Her dark green tabi were next, and she found herself silently offering up thanks as the smooth socks slid onto her sore and tired feet. The soak in the water had already done wonders for them, but it felt nice to tuck them into something comfortable. She concentrated on the comfort of her feet and tried to ignore the two inner voices that were plaguing her. 

Her sandals were last, and she was pleased to find that although he had guessed at her size completely, he had approximated it closely. They weren't so big that they flopped, yet weren't so small that they were uncomfortable. She tied the sandal's bindings tightly, because she had no wish to loose one while beating any sort of hasty retreat. 

All this accomplished, she examined herself carefully. On one level, she was quite impressed with her handiwork, because she was sure that she looked very much like a young boy. On another level, she couldn't help one last wistful look 

_I want to be pretty for him._

Pausing beside the dressing room door, she took a deep breath and slid the door open, stepping into the common room of the bathhouse. 

Soujiro was standing with his back to the door and examining a calendar on the far wall. When he heard her footstep behind him, he turned, the familiar complacent smile quite at home on his boyish face. 

"Very nice, Kuri-san. If I didn't know better I would swear you were a boy." 

She concealed the small hurt his innocent comment provoked without missing a step, although one voice did get a final tiny rebuttal, _I told you. You're a boy to him. You'll never be . . ._ She cut the voice off before it could do any more damage and responded to his comment with a bluff of arrogance. 

"Normally, that would offend me, but I guess it's a compliment now. I guess even my radiant beauty is concealed by this great disguise," she smiled like a satisfied cat for effect. 

Soujiro sweatdropped, apparently completely taken in, and said, "Hai, Kuri-san." 

The radiant beauty opened her mouth again to ask where they were headed now that her most pressing need was taken care of, when suddenly her stomach rumbled very loudly and informed her of their next destination. 

* 

Author's Note:

Because I revised this chapter quite some time ago, the original no longer exists to compare it with. Going over to Tears and Rain proper will only net you a slightly altered version of this chapter. The full rewrites begin at chapter four. Don't worry, you didn't miss anything good in the first drafts :P  
  
  
  



	3. On the Kindness of Strangers: Halt, Poli...

Tears and Rain (Revisited)

  


Chapter Three – On the Kindness of Strangers: Halt, Police!

By Gabi (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

http://www.pinkfluffy.net/rurouni/fanfiction/

  
  


Of course, once Kuri's stomach announced itself, it was difficult to ignore. It growled out again before they had taken ten steps out of the bathhouse. Its incessant noise reminded Soujiro that he'd had nothing to eat since the day before. This was not uncommon for him, as a wandering ronin cannot always choose his mealtimes. Still, he did generally get enough to eat, a statement he was not so sure he could make about his companion. 

Kuri put a comforting hand over her stomach and groaned. 

"We don't have any money left, do we?" 

His benign smile was unaltered, although he was forced to shake his head, "Iie, Kuri-san." 

"No money means no dinner," she equated miserably. 

"Sumimasen, Kuri-san. I'll try and make sure that we eat tomorrow." 

Her eyes popped at the prospect, "Tomorrow!? We can't wait that long to eat, especially if you want to travel some more this evening," she bowed her head, "Gomen nasai, Soujiro-kun, but I just can't walk any more without rest or food. I'm not used to it. Fetching water from the well when I haven't eaten all day isn't so bad, but walking all this way? I don't want to faint on you." 

His pleasant smile and soft touched voice was rather nerve racking as he calmly went over their options, "Well, if you're really hungry we can go through some trash or beg, but that rarely works. I've seen several people at it since I started on my journey and it generally only gets them in trouble." 

Kuri was not particularly excited by the idea of finding her dinner at the bottom of a garbage heap, the latter idea had some merit though, she decided. 

"Soujiro-kun, would you mind if we tried to get some food? If we, you know, begged?" she looked rather pitiful, with her hungry, hangdog expression. 

Soujiro would not beg for himself. If he was hungry, then that was fate and part of his penance. Kuri however had done nothing wrong and didn't deserve to go hungry again. He wasn't sure when she'd eaten last, but from her skinny frame he guessed that her meals at the inn had been few and far between. Deciding it would be all right to be for Kuri's sake, he shook his head, "Iie, Kuri-san. I don't mind if we beg. You need food." 

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Soujiro no baka. You need food too." 

He pretended as though he hadn't heard and then nodded, "Cheer up, Kuri-san. I'm sure someone will give us a little something." 

His positive comment distracted her and bucked up her spirits again, "Hai, I'm sure someone will." 

* 

A dismal hour later they had visited most of the residences and restaurants in the town. Every homeowner or cook had called them worthless sloths or shouted obscenities. Two had thrown things at them and one had threatened to call the police. Needless to say, Kuri's belly was no closer to being full and it protested its condition loudly. 

Still, she kept up a faint hope as they approached the final restaurant on the row. It was a nice looking establishment, well lighted and bright, and the most delicious smells issued from the open door. Kuri's mouth watered. 

The head waited stood at the door and tried to lure passersby in with descriptions of the delectable food inside. It was almost more than she could bear, and as she stood beside the door she could almost taste the dumplings. She swallowed. Soujiro was the one to present their case this time. 

"Pardon my interruption, sir, but my friend and I are travelers. We've run out of money and my younger friend is very hungry, sir. I don't suppose you have any food to spare," he explained politely, "Because my friend would appreciate almost anything." 

Kuri held her breath. 

Then the waiter responded, "I'm happy to serve anyone," his face was as pleasant as Soujiro's, "Provided they can pay for their meal," his expression grew quite stony, "People work too hard for their money for me to just give you food for nothing. Go on, you vagrant filth, and don't come back until you have some money!" 

This was a bit too much for Kuri, "Why you evil bastard! Haven't you ever heard of helping those that are down!?! Did it ever occur to you that we maybe had some bad luck or were wronged!?" she was shouting at the top of her lungs and looked as if she was going to pounce the waiter and show him just how angry she was. Soujiro was quicker than she was and restrained her before she could make her move. He looked quite embarrassed and sweatdropped as he apologized for her behavior. She wriggled and wriggled, trying to get loose, but his grip held firm and he manage to drag her away. 

The waiter shook his fist after them, "And if I ever see your faces again, I'll call the police!" 

He did not let her go until they were several blocks away from the restaurant. 

"Sumimasen, Kuri-san, but you can't just randomly attack people like that," he sweatdropped, "They'll put us in jail." 

"That jerk! Every word I said was true! May his restaurant burn down tomorrow," she snapped sullenly. 

Her peevish mood did not dampen Soujiro's expression or voice in the least. He simply smiled and pointed out the obvious, "And your belly isn't any closer to being full, is it?" 

"Of course not!" she retorted. 

"Well then," he surmised in his pleasant tone of his, "Your actions back there didn't help us at all, did they?" 

She sat down on the sidewalk and crossed her arms, scowling at him. She was in no mood to have this discussion, especially not with a boy who looked eternally pleased with himself. 

He realized that that he had pressed her a bit too much while she was still angry and apologized. She sullenly accepted, but didn't budge from her spot. After a few moments, he sat down on the wooden sidewalk beside her. 

She sulked in silence for a few moments, running all possible alternatives over in her head. Finally she came upon one that was quite satisfying in all ways. Feeling quite pleased with herself, she bounced to her feet and rubbed her hands together. 

"Um, I just remembered I have something to take care of, Soujiro-kun. You stay here and I'll be right back," she smiled widely and fidgeted a bit. Her smile was a little too wide, in his opinion.. 

"It's all right, Kuri-san, I'll come with you," he smiled good-naturedly. 

She laughed nervously, "No, no, silly Soujiro, I have to do it one my own," she groped for an excuse, "It's a surprise." 

"A surprise?" he asked, curious. 

"A girl surprise," her voice had noticeable strain in it, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and he dismissed it. 

"All right, Kuri-san. I'll be waiting right here for you."   
"Arigatou, Soujiro-kun, I'll be right back!" and with that, she took off faster than he would have guessed her underfed form could move. 

* 

She was gone for several minutes, but not any length of time that would have aroused his worry. That was another new feeling he'd been experiencing recently, worry. As the Tenken, he'd never worried about anything. As long as he as strong, there was nothing to worry about. There wasn't anyone or anything that was really a threat to Shishio, that couldn't be easily removed. He had really never had any cares or worries, just a constant unbroken feeling of pleasure. 

Even as a ronin, little bothered him. Of course, he cared for himself enough so that his continued existence was not a problem, but he didn't do much more than that. He knew that he had to preserve his life to keep his promise to Himura, so he was always careful and methodical in situations that could be severely hazardous to his health, but he never let such things worry him. 

Despite his fledgling emotional responses, he still had a habit of going outside of his situation and examining it like an unbiased party. It was the only logical thing to do, and as the Tenken, logic had been his ally and emotions had been his enemy. This kept petty things from bothering him, and even some not so petty things. For instance, he wasn't a bit perturbed by his constant apologies to Kuri. They didn't hurt him, and they pacified her, so really, there was no draw back. Their current monetary straits did not bother him either. If they didn't have food tonight he'd simply have to figure out a way to get them food tomorrow. It wasn't complicated and there was no use dwelling on the fact that he was hungry. 

Still, he had a responsibility now. He couldn't merely dismiss things as unpleasant but bearable now, he had Kuri to think of. He'd now have to consider his actions, and the risks he took more carefully, lest she be left to deal with the consequences. It did complicate things, but taking care of her was fulfilling the promise he had made to Himura, and he had to admit, having someone depending on him conjured that same full, rich contentedness that he had decided must be called "happiness." It'd been so long since he had felt things, he had difficulty remembering what all the terms meant, he realized ruefully. 

Well, that would change in time. Everything can change in time, he knew. A bloody hitokiri could become a battered ronin and an indentured servant could become a free citizen. He'd just have to give it some time. 

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the rapid approach of slapping sandals on the dirt road. He looked up just in time to see Kuri come tearing around the corner hefting a large iron skillet with a ceramic dish in the center of it. 

She screeched to a halt in front of him, although the skillet had a mind to keep travelling forward and she almost fell forward under its weight. When she regained her balance, she banged it down on the wooden sidewalk and took the heavy ceramic bowl out of the center of it. 

"Sukiyaki?" he asked, caught rather off guard. 

She nodded happily and shook out her sleeves, producing two pairs of chopsticks. 

"Who gave you sukiyaki?" he asked curiously, taking an offered pair of chopsticks. 

She laughed nervously, "That nice man from the restaurant we just visited. I went back and explained our situation in greater detail and he felt really bad for the way he treated us, so he said I could have all the food I wanted to make up for it." 

"Dishes and all?" 

"Hai," her smile was strained, "Now eat up fast. You need your strength and I really have to return these dishes soon." 

He nodded and grabbed a piece of squash with his chopsticks. She really was right. He did need his strength if he was going to take care of her properly. That last thing she needed was for him to keel over from hunger on her. 

Once she knew that she had secured his cooperation, she dug in with a relish, putting away the rice and vegetables at amazing speed. She barely stopped to breathe, catching spare air in between mouthfuls of food. Soujiro was not quite as enthusiastic, but she made sure he ate well through constant prodding. 

She was beginning to feel very good inside when the rapid approach of several pairs of heavy booted feet reminded her of the consequences of their meal. She tugged at his sleeve. 

"I think it's time we set off, Soujiro-kun," she intoned in the most relaxed, cheerful tone she could muster, which still sounded slightly nervous and panicky. 

"Nani? I though you had to return these dishes . . ." 

Suddenly, he was cut off by the sharp cry of thief and curious, he turned his head to survey the end of the street, where several armed policemen had just rounded the corner. 

"I see," he sweatdropped, as he rose to his feet. 

He should have expected as much. Kuri's story and behavior had been more than suspect. Still, he really couldn't blame her. She was a starving waif and the man she'd swiped from looked like he ran a very profitable restaurant. Soujiro doubted that he would even feel the loss of one dinner. He might have perhaps felt a twinge of guilt at Kuri's actions had the man at the restaurant not been so thoroughly unpleasant to her. As it stood, Kuri's impulse action had solved one of their problems but had presented them with another. He couldn't help thinking of her fondly, despite the trouble she'd gotten them into. She was trying her best to help in any way she could think of. 

She hopped about like a demented rabbit again, sure that he was displeased with her, "Gomen nasai, Soujiro-kun, I was so hungry!" 

He gave her a reassuring smile and murmured, "Daijoubu, daijoubu, don't work yourself into a fit, it just looks like we're going to leaving a little sooner than I expected." 

The front runner in the pack of constabulary was close enough now to see that Soujiro carried a sword. He drew his own weapon and loudly called for the ronin to stay right where he was. 

Soujiro was not particularly impressed with the policeman's sword, yet he did not see the benefits of slaying a policeman. Besides, there was Kuri to consider, that and the fact that he didn't need to kill these men to protect her from them. He was fairly certain that the random killing of a policeman would contradict the whole purpose of his journey. 

This settled, he could see only one other feasible alternative. 

He turned his head absently and gauged the height of the nearest building. He glanced back at the rapidly approaching policemen one last time and then turned and scooped Kuri up into his arms in one smooth motion. She made a startled sound that turned into a light squeal as he jumped from the ground to a rooftop like a grasshopper. She blinked and began to rub her eyes as if she disbelieved they had just hopped from the street to a rooftop with no problems. Soujiro took the opportunity when Kuri had her eyes closed to tense his calves. He was gone from the town in something between an instant and a moment, with only a few dented rooftops to show his passage. 

The policemen were left in the middle of the street wondering what on earth had become of their quarry in a fraction of a second. After a half-hearted hunt through a few local buildings, the hunt was called off and the bowl and skillet were returned, empty, to the angry restaurant owner. 

He had nothing to say about it but a low, muttered curse. 

* 

He stopped his monumental burst of speed right after they passed through the outskirts of town, but he kept running for sometime, putting a good bit of distance between them and the town. When he finally did stop it was to announce that they were stopping for the night under a tree near the road. 

He set her on her feet gently, but even as he did she immediately grabbed his shoulder. 

"Soujiro-kun, how did you do that?!! I close my eyes and we're in town, I open them back up and we're not in town anymore. What happened?" 

He laughed nervously and smiled his benign smile, "I think you fainted, Kuri-san." 

She looked at him skeptically, "Are you sure?" 

He nodded, "You went limp in my arms for a while. I was worried." 

He was sure that she would treat him differently once she knew about his past. She didn't need to be burdened with the truth. Besides, a few slight alterations of the truth never hurt anyone. 

This answer seemed to appease her, and she didn't question him about it any more before curling into a little ball near him, under the tree. She had had a long day. 

"Just one more thing, Soujiro-kun," she yawned and made herself more comfortable in the grass. 

"Hai?" 

"If you run off and leave me while I'm asleep, I swear I'll hunt you until the day I die." 

"Hai, Kuri-san," he smiled and rolled over on his side. 

"Oyasumi," she yawned again faintly. 

"Oyasumi, he returned. 

Several minutes passed and Soujiro was lulled by her regular breathing. He was just about to drift off himself when he felt a light tug at his sleeve as she shifted positions slightly while she slept. 

He craned his neck to see her arm stretched out between them. His smile was warm in the darkness. She had a death grip on his gi. 

She was taking no chances. 

* 

Author's Note:

Because I revised this chapter quite some time ago, the original no longer exists to compare it with. Going over to Tears and Rain proper will only net you a slightly altered version of this chapter. The full rewrites begin at chapter four. Don't worry, you didn't miss anything good in the first drafts :P  
  



	4. Home Again, Home Again: Storm on the Hor...

  
  


The morning sun was strong and gentle, warming Kuri's back in a pleasant and friendly way. She and Soujiro had been on the road for several hours already, despite the early hour of the day, and she welcomed the comfortable companionship of the young sun. Later on in the day, past noontide, she knew that she'd grow weary of his company as he continued to beat down on their backs relentlessly, making her heavy gi too hot for her, but for now she was content to bask in his company as he chased the chill out of the air.

She'd enjoyed the company of the sun, Soujiro, and the open road for more than a week now and she was having difficulty imagining ever living in any other way. Already her life at the inn seemed distant, although this was partially due to her actively striving to divorce herself from it. She didn't want to think about herself in conjunction with the inn ever again. She was Soujiro's traveling companion now, and that was just the way it was.

Not even their lack of funding put a damper on what Kuri still saw as a lark, despite whatever thing that Soujiro claimed to be searching for. He seemed unwilling to offer any more information on the object of his (their) search and Kuri was not inclined to pester him about such things. She feared that if she irritated him too greatly then he'd just leave her along the side of the road somewhere and this was an outcome that she desperately wanted to avoid, not only because her quality of living had greatly improved just in the few days she'd been traveling with him, but also because she'd gotten quite fond of him already.

He was so dark and mysterious! She still didn't even know how he had gotten her away from the inn, although frankly she didn't really care so long as she was away from it and never going back. Still, despite his generally blank smile and occasional brainless tendencies, he was quite a romantic figure. He'd rescued her from certain doom, protected her innocence, bought her clothes, listened to her talk, and saved her from an irate police squad all in the span of a few days. Plus, he was terribly handsome in a strangely feminine way. Kuri found him completely non-threatening in that sense, and this just added further mystique to his already fantastic character. As a young girl unwise and untried in the ways of the world, she had few defenses against the ronin who kept pace beside and slightly in front of her. In any case, he didn't seem to mind her constant prattle and she blessed him for that because constantly talking to him made her feel more at ease and didn't leave much time for her to brood on the fact that although she felt magnetically drawn to him, she doubted he was even marginally interested in her.

Since leaving the town where she'd had the unfortunate run-in with the police over sukiyaki they'd traveled with little incident, sleeping in fields, haystacks, and under trees since they could not afford an inn by any stretch of the imagination and Soujiro didn't want to risk being discovered by any local authorities. They were still dangerously close to the inn where Kuri had spent her life in servitude and Soujiro had left a bloody tangle that had once been an inn keeper. So far there had been no repercussions to his "theft," but at this point he was sure the local authorities were still trying to piece together exactly what had happened. If the inn keeper had no close relatives who kept abreast of his affairs, then it was possible that Kuri still hadn't even been missed. Whatever the case, it was still not prudent to tempt fate. Soujiro kept them to the fields at night and traveling inconspicuously down side roads during the day. If he hadn't some relatively close destination in mind already, then they'd be on Tokaido Road north to Tokyo already, and far, far away from that dismal little inn. 

Despite the straw that Kuri insisted on picking out of his hair every morning, they lived well enough. Deeper into the prefecture people apparently became more hospitable, more willing to offer simple food to travelers who'd "had a run of bad luck." Country folk were often nicer than town folk, Kuri had declared to him, as if she were a world wise traveler and not an ignorant country girl who'd spent the last few years of her life venturing no more than fifty steps away from the front door of an inn that sat on a minor thoroughfare between Kyoto and Tokyo.

Still, her enthusiasm was endearing, and Soujiro was glad for the company. He also found that he enjoyed being depended on. It made him feel important in a strange way that being the strongest of the ten swords of the secret militia had never even touched upon. She needed him in a way that no one else ever had and he found that he wasn't bothered by this dependency at all. Still, It wasn't as if he had any sort of strange affection for her. He fully intended to find her a nice home and drop her off at the first available chance that wouldn't weigh on his conscious. She was just a girl after all, and all she would eventually end up doing is slowing him down. Yes, he was best off without her, no matter how pretty she was.

He blanked and his mind skipped. How had something so logical as a discourse on a way to dispose of her humanely jumped to something so esoteric as reflecting on beauty? Beauty was so so objective, after all. Who was he to say she was beautiful? He had no experience in such matters, nor did he have any desire for such experience. As far as he was concerned, the girl was just that, a girl. She was his ward and he was nothing more than her temporary protector. He had no right to speculate on her beauty even if he felt the desire to do so. Still, even _he_ could not deny the strange feeling he'd felt when he'd seen her come out the bath after having cleaned the filth and muck from herself. He wasn't quite sure how to classify the feeling; he'd ended up deciding that he was simply surprised that the girl could get herself so presentable in such a short time. She cleaned up well. That was it.

He dismissed the random and fleeting fancy that had occupied him for several minutes and turned his attention back to Kuri, at least marginally. He didn't want to get himself into another predicament where he agreed to something out of sheer inattention.

The time passed easily enough, Kuri filling up any silent spaces with her random prattle. Soujiro felt it necessary to punctuate these verbal dissertations on the state of the world with occasional comments, sometimes agreeing with her, sometimes disagreeing. In keeping with her knowledge of country folk and city folk, she had confirmed opinions on just about everything under the sun, particularly things that he knew she could know very little about. It interested him to find that many of her confirmed opinions directly contradicted things he'd physically seen himself. At first he'd tried to quietly correct her, provide her with more sound information to base her inferences on. He wasn't sure whether she actually absorbed anything he said to her or just dismissed him politely out of hand as being well-meaning but incorrect, as she never seemed to change any of her real opinions. She stayed obstinately stuck in a dangerous sort of naiveté that he worried would someday get her into trouble. In this way he would have found her entirely too frustrating if not for his obscenely vast amount of patience. On the other hand, no matter how silly her unsullied innocence seemed, it still intrigued him in a way that he could not quantify, no matter how hard he tried.

In any case, Soujiro's full attention had not been directed at her for a least three days, if it had even been fully directed at her in the first place. Something buried deep in his psyche was throbbing with the slow, steady ache of a heartbeat that gradually quickened as he neared his destination. Four miles up the road was the stream of his spawning and of his slaying. The village they approached was the same one he'd left without a whisper so many years ago, under the cover of a violent storm and at the side of an even more violent man. He had finally come home.

After watching the ruins of the shrine he'd called home for almost ten years smolder and finally hiss out under a gentle rain from an overlook on a nearby mountain, he had been at something of a loss as to what to do. Himura had sent him off to find truth without even a vague indication of where he might find it. Soujiro had aimlessly wandered into Kyoto carrying nothing but the mauled remains of the Kikuichi Norimune, careful to avoid the places in the city where he knew he might run into violent ninja who had not been properly informed of his amnesty. He need not be formally pardoned for his crimes yet because he had not determined for certain that they were crimes. Himura had set him on a quest to try himself to determine if he were guilty. He had no great desire to involve anyone else in it, if at all possible, so he avoided anyone whom he suspected might have issues with his freedom or continued life in general.

Eventually he'd ended up in a black market sword dealer's shop. The old man who owned the shop had been Shishio's top supplier of rare and masterwork swords, and Soujiro had often run errands back and forth from the shrine to the shop. When Soujiro had dragged himself into the shop and collapsed unceremoniously into a wicker chair, the old man's first thought had been of the half-destroyed sword that hung listlessly from the boy's right hand. 

Soujiro had been mostly vacant, caught in a desperate inner monologue, debating his future heatedly with himself. He only absently responded to the old man's remonstrations concerning his care of the magnificent blade that was now shattered like so many pieces of a fractured soul. Somehow, the old man had managed to pry the last vestiges of the sword out of Soujiro's hand and disappear with it into the back of his shop. Soujiro was unclear on how the next series of events played out. His next coherent memory was waking up on the floor of a side room of the shop, covered over with a blanket.

The old man had come in sometime later to give him a long package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Soujiro did not make any comments on the old man's hospitality and the old man did not volunteer any information as to why he had ministered carefully to a young man he knew to be a deadly assassin. Perhaps it had something to do with the Old Man's past, a paternal softness that had driven him to take care of the boy while he was in a fugue state and nearly defenseless, or perhaps it was just simple human decency that Soujirou could not yet understand. The old man apparently expected no thanks, simply presented the package to the boy without a word and then silently left the room, presumably to attend to other matters.

What Soujiro found in the simple brown wrappings, coupled with the memory of a conversation he'd had with Yumi shortly before leaving the shrine were what had driven him out of Kyoto and onto the road north. It was the Kikuichi Norimune reforged and carefully bound again in the same worn white leather that was so familiar under Soujiro's hands. He had no idea what favors the old man had pulled to get the sword reforged, but the metal was sure and sharp and true. Soujiro was no expert on masterwork swords, but he knew his own like he knew his left hand, and as far as he could tell, he held the Norimune reborn. The balance, weight, keenness, everything was perfect.

It was staring at this blade that he remembered his own words to Yumi. To build a house correctly, it must be rebuilt from the foundations. If there was a place where his foundations truly began, then it was in the village ahead, under the wholesale rice warehouse. Having decided upon a destination, Soujiro had wasted no time in starting towards it. He left the shop without a word or a backward glance, stopping only to buy food and a small sack for essentials. That had been roughly two months ago.

Now as he neared the objective of his original journey, he was reminded that the trip hadn't turned out exactly as he had planned. Kuri was hopping about excitedly from foot to foot, apparently quite enthused about this little town, which she declared looked "very nice and homey." Soujiro disregarded her comment but she didn't seem particularly distressed by the fact that he didn't answer her. Either she was especially empathetic and had picked up on his pensive mood so carefully hidden by the insubstantial smile or she was terribly oblivious and hadn't even noticed his lack of comment. He was so new to all of this, both the complexities of human emotions and the habits and propensities of his new traveling companion, that he really had no idea which of them was a more correct assessment.

At the edge of the town he gently caught her sleeve, startling her a little at his closeness and the ease with which he touched her. She immediately hushed and regarded him wide-eyed and obedient as he spoke softly, although with a frightening sort of singleness of purpose that even she could detect, despite the fact that he obstinately hung onto his vacant and truly expressionless smile. He wasn't fooling anyone, certainly not her. Something was bothering him. 

"Kuri-san, I have some important things to do today in town," he seemed to be looking past her, down the road and into the town.

She ducked her head slightly, an acknowledgment to his statement. She was anxious to know what was bothering him.

"And I need to do them alone," he finished before she could even open her mouth to ask him how she could help. 

She was singularly dejected at his lack of trust in her, but she hid it well and didn't press him. Whatever it was, she hoped that in time he'd tell her. She was worried about him and his communication skills regarding his emotional state left something to be desired. Still, she was quiet and pleasant, agreeable in a way that she hoped would put him more at ease with her. Without her prompting, he continued.

"I ought to be done with my business by dusk. I'll meet you back here at this tree then," he gestured behind him where an old and gnarled cherry tree stood alone on the outskirts of town. It was just beginning to blossom. 

Soujiro worried that she would demand to go with him or know his business or be frightened of staying alone in a town for so long, but she simply smiled pleasantly and agreed, "Hai, Soujiro-kun. I'll meet you here at dusk," she squeezed her eyes shut mimicking his own vacantly pleasant expression, "Just be sure to be here on time, or I'll eat all your dinner." 

He was relieved at her lack of protest, and relaxed to a degree, folding his arms inside his gi.

"Hai, Kuri-san. I'll be there." 

He repressed the urge to thank her so as not to arouse her suspicions further than they might be already. Kuri turned her head so that he wouldn't catch her direct gaze and her eyes softened. She was glad to be able to comfort him in any way at all. He'd been so kind to her, after all. And he was so . . .

She bounced on her feet and turned on her heel, unwilling to follow that unhappy train of thought any farther. There was a momentary pause in her step, a moment of regret that would have been invisible to all but the most perceptive. Soujiro noticed it, but didn't know what to make of it. He almost called her back to ask about the minute tell, but she ran off towards the village, before he could stop her. He waved at her retreating form absently, already preoccupied again.

Once she was out of sight, he began his own journey into town. His steps were slow and sure, his pace measured and sedate. He was in no hurry to visit the house where he'd spent so many torturous days and nights as a child. Being broken as he was, he could no longer objectively view his past, despite his attempts to do just that. His emotions were mixed, but none of them were pleasant. His stomach flopped and twisted over on itself, although he gave no outward sign of discomfort. Still, he was grateful that Kuri had found something else to busy herself with so he had less to complicate his own turbulent mind. 

He didn't have to ask directions. His feet still knew their way home, even if he had long since lost any pleasant feelings concerning the loose collection of buildings he was heading towards, if he'd ever had any pleasant thoughts about them in the first place. He stopped at the well and peered in. The water was low and murky, not much different that they way he'd left it. He had no desire to pull up a pail of the questionable water, which he remembered tasting sulfurous and bitter, so he settled for idly pushing a few pebbles off the lip of the well and listening to their small, anemic splashes.

Looking straight down the road from the well he could see the wooded hill outside the village where he'd dragged that policeman to bury so many years ago. Even then he'd been working at Shishio's hand, although he was sure that his mentor had never been away of this little service. It didn't matter, Soujiro had done it gladly. The gangly bandaged man, although frightening to the boy-child that he had been, had still been the first person in his life to offer even measured concern or interest in his activities.

And he'd also been afraid. Afraid of what might happen if a policeman were found dismembered on the small streets of the town. Afraid of the beatings he would get if anyone found out that he'd offered Shishio sanctuary in exchange for his own meager life. He'd buried the policeman to help Shishio, yes, but he'd also buried the man in self-defense, although in the end, that had mattered little.

Behind him, down the street to the left was the crossroads where he'd met Shishio for the first time. Ah, this place was full of memories. Swathed in bloody bandages and blessed by the light of the moon, shining dangerously in the night as he made ribbons of the man in front of him with no discernible effort. This was the image that was still burned into Soujiro's mind. Shishio had been so impressive, so terribly, terribly strong. For a brief fleeting moment, Soujiro had wondered if such a man were strong enough to save him from his own pitiful fate. But then that moment had passed and Soujiro had never again desired for Shishio to take care of him. He knew that it would have been fruitless to ask, even if he had still desired it secretly, deep inside.

Taking a deep breath that was as soft as a whisper, Soujiro turned his back on the well and followed his feet again. Before he was ready, they led him to the yard in front of the gray, weathered rice warehouse. He had no idea who owned the distributing center now. The name posted on the building was not familiar to him at all, not even in a passing sense. His night of infamy, that rainy spring night so long ago had killed off every single blood relative he'd had left. No, that wasn't right. The night hadn't killed them. He had, with a fine little wakazashi that Shishio had loaned to him to help "take care of his problems." There was no use denying anything to himself, certainly not here. He glanced up at the unfamiliar name and reflected that since no one could stake a legitimate claim to the company, it had probably reverted back to the state. Whomever might own it, the yard seemed blessedly deserted at this time of the day. He did not want to have to explain himself to any irate new owners who might spy him "trespassing" on their property. He couldn't really explain himself anyway, not without telling bald faced lies. He doubted any new owners would react well to stories of being the sole heir, back to inspect the homestead after having killed off all his other relatives at age ten and then spending over a decade in the service to the greatest threat to organized government that existed, if they even believed any of it, which he doubted. Even he could recognize that the actual facts of his life seemed a little far-fetched. He also thought it was as likely that he could convince a random passerby of his god-like speed without a demonstration as it was that he could sell that same person a piece of beach front property in Nagano.

After one last cursory glance around to make sure no one was watching him, he took a deep breath and strode deliberately into the yard. The smooth sand of the yard shifted a little under the weight of his sandals, a chillingly familiar feeling. He made a sweeping survey of the yard and building without actually going into it. A new padlock on the door quashed any notions that he might actually get to stroll inside and see the very room where he'd had so many of his early conversations with Shishio. Still, just being in this place triggered a rushing tide of nostalgia that nearly knocked him over in its force. Near the edge of the warehouse he found a little hollow in the dirt, perhaps the same little hollow he'd found all those rainy nights ago and used to seek sanctuary from his remaining blood relations, and sat down. 

It didn't take long before the volume of memories came singing back over him abrasive and cacophonous. He could not help but relive his childhood, whether he had any great desire to or not. He was beaten by his older half-brothers on every possible occasion. Once, at age six, after failing to scrub the steps clean enough for his grandmother, they had nearly beaten him to death. He remembered being black and blue and bleeding, scared senseless in the storage room, cowering under a pile of burlap sacks terrified that they'd come back and do it again. He had felt that they had broken something inside of him, and lay as still as death, wishing he were dead, or invisible, or anything so long as they wouldn't hurt him again. Miraculously, he did not die that night from internal bleeding, and they had left him alone for the better part of a week. But then it had started again, and it did not stop again after that, no matter how severe or overzealous the beatings got. 

  
He remembered hauling heavy sacks of rice until he passed out from exhaustion, afraid to stop lest he provoke another beating. Then he remembered waking up in the yard at night under an infinite and beautiful sky, his arms and back covered with new welts they had given him as he lay there. He remembered learning to sleep on his stomach so he wouldn't irritate the open sores on his back. Then he remembered nights when he had to sleep on his welts, because they covered his whole body. He cried often, but never when they were around. He had learned to never let them see. Whenever they saw they just beat him more. He learned to smile for them, and although his smile occasionally provoked their violence, they lost interest quickly. To them he was like a thing dead. Even to himself he seemed like a thing dead, but he still harbored hope. One day he'd leave the rice yard forever. One day he'd be able to sleep without worrying whether one of his older brothers would storm into the cellar one night and beat him just for the hell of it, or because a woman had jilted him. It had happened before. It would happen again and again and again, and he knew that it would continue to happen until he left. Someday he'd be safe from them. Someday they wouldn't be able to hurt him any more. Someday he'd be able to leave.

Soujiro found himself crying silently in the shade of the warehouse, hands covering his face in an attempt to ward something off, either the very emotions that made him cry or the tears themselves. He had never wanted to hurt them. No matter how many times they beat him, he never wanted to hurt them. He had always hoped that in some way they cared about him, even if they never showed it. He had desperately hoped that some day he would be welcomed into their home, not only for the warmth of the fire and the food, but the warmth of care and attention that this simple action would grant. If he had wanted to hurt them back, then he would have been no better than they were. He had never wanted to hurt them. He had never really even wanted to leave. They were all he had ever known, after all. All he wanted was for them to care for him, even a little bit. Even after they had made it abundantly clear on that final night that they would never love him, never think of him as anything other than an animal to use and abuse and kill on a whim, he had still not wanted to kill them. Only to be free of them. Free. 

He leaned forward and drew his knees to his chest. He held his head in his hands and his tears wet his cheeks and the cold sand under him. He had slain them all in a few moments of terrified rebellion, flailing mindlessly about with a killing sword. He had done things too terrible for any child to do, so he had locked the little boy in himself behind a soundproof screen. The boy had watched him kill and kill and kill, always smiling, never mindful of the fears, sorrow, and happiness that he shunted away and locked in an airtight box. The boy had seen everything, and now he wept openly, as he had wept behind the screen so many times before. 

After fleeing from one broken home, he had made himself slave to another master, one that was kinder to the killer, but worse to the little crying boy. But then it hadn't really mattered. The boy had been locked behind the screen, where his torment could not be heard. During his fight with Himura, the screen had finally cracked, allowing the killer to finally hear the boy's voice again. Now they both existed inside of him, the killer and the boy, and together, they made him the ronin. No one had been there to stop what had happened to him, but now with the soul of the boy and the skills of the killer, perhaps he could stop it from happening to others. He fisted up a handful of the fine sand of the yard and let it sift through his fingers as he had often done as a child, counting the breaths it took for his hand to empty. Maybe he could stop it.

The moment the screen had cracked during the battle with Himura, the boy had begun to assert himself, after having been gagged for so long. Now it was the boy who enjoyed the rabbit girl's company. It had been the killer that had freed her, but the killer was not capable of enjoying anything. The boy could love and hate and cry. At that moment when he had thrown himself against the floor, Yumi had called him broken. She had been incorrect. He was not broken. He was finally free. 

* 

The moon was high and full when he finally made his way back to the cherry tree, another inauspicious omen, since the last time he'd been in the town under a full moon it had been stained with the blood of his kinsmen. This moment of unease lasted only briefly and he chided himself for being superstitious. He found Kuri asleep at the base of the tree, arms tight around a sack of food and their small pouch of money. He smiled at her fondly, softly, and then gently shook her awake. 

It seemed to him that she must have only been half-asleep, because she came awake almost as soon as he laid a hand on her. She blinked once or twice and then yawned cavernously. Her yawn caused a similar reaction in him, which set her to giggling. He found it easy to gently join in, and she had to consciously stop herself from gaping at him because he seemed honestly and innocently amused. She managed to keep her astonishment under control, but only barely, and to distract him from her wide-eyed reaction she launched into a rapid-fire account of her activities in the town.

Soujiro had to ask Kuri to lower her voice one time, as they were still on the outskirts of the town when she'd felt it necessary to cover him over in an avalanche of information. It was just her way, he supposed, and he had to admit that he found her prattle (as random and disjointed as it always was) oddly soothing.

Once she'd gotten herself tonally under control, Kuri explained that she had spent most of the day working at a local restaurant. She'd done dishes for hours, but she was proud of what she had to show for it. She had a sack of food for their dinner and breakfast, and had earned enough to buy food at market stands for several days. He praised her in his softly and she warmed to his smile, which for a moment, didn't seem so forced. Prudently, she didn't ask about his day and Soujiro didn't offer to tell her. He wavered. He might. He might someday. He might someday, but not tonight. Her smile was too bright tonight. Her step was too light and youthful, unburdened. 

They stopped for the night in an old abandoned barn that they had passed on the way into town that morning. It seemed a fitting place to stay the night after his epiphany in the sand strewn yard of the rice warehouse, which was a converted barn itself. The straw inside the dilapidated barn was warm and dry, and Kuri made herself comfortable immediately, but not before making sure that Soujiro got some rice and vegetables inside of him. He accepted them without protest, and she found it was easy to go to sleep in the sun warmed hay because she could sense that he was happy and relaxed. 

He sat up watching her sleep and thinking about the decisions he'd made that day for a long while, tracking the mother moon across the sky as she waltzed with her stars. Her blanket was silver and ethereal, and when he looked back to Kuri, snuggled comfortably in the hay, he almost caught his breath. She was so small, so like a child wearing clothes a little too big for her, pulling her arms inside her gi and crossing them over her chest to retain warmth. The sun might be a little too generous with his heat during the day, but the moon was much less giving with her gifts and they were far more subtle. Kuri shivered in her sleep and he shrugged out of his own gi without a thought. A light breeze whipped into the open barn and caught his hair, driving of the chillness of the night home, into his bones. Still, he carefully laid his own gi over her, tucking it gently in at the sides so as not to wake her. As he did so he noticed several spots of pale pink silver nested in her hair. It took him a moment to place exactly what they were, but then he breathed in deeply and a familiar scent graced his nostrils. They were fallen cherry blossoms, holdovers from Kuri's lengthy stay underneath the tree. He delicately brushed a few out of her hair and then examined them in his hand, still leaning slightly over her, braced by one arm. Cherry blossoms were reminders of the past. Soon perhaps he could put his past behind him, but now that he had been home he knew that he had one other stop to make before starting his journey again in earnest, and it was the very place he'd just come from. Kyoto. They would go to Kyoto next to pay their respects to a fallen empire that was never meant to be. Now that the ashes had cooled and the sparks were all out, now he could perhaps inspect the ruin objectively and learn from the picture that it painted. 

This decision made, he too found it easy to settle into his own bed of straw. The night was quiet, comforting, and companionable to him as the morning had been to Kuri. Once again, he found himself drifting off to the steady rhythm of her breathing. But just as sleep was about to wash over him he heard a slight noise that shattered his peace and chilled his blood.

It was the soft scrape of steel on steel as someone unsheathed a katana. 

* 

Author's Note:

If you are intrigued by this chapter you can always go back to Tears and Rain proper to see the original fourth chapter and to continue the story, or you could wait until I get off my keester and actually revise the fifth chapter, which maybe a better deal for all of us.  
  



	5. Blood on the Tongue: The Choices We Make

Tears and Rain Revisited

  


Chapter Five –_ Blood on the Tongue: The Choices We Make_

  


By Gabi (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

  


The chill of the sound froze him instantly, shoving him gracelessly back into the role he filled so neatly. As a killer he had been nothing if not . . . precise. Now, the sharpness of the sound reverberated in his ears, tensing him, eating him from the inside out. It was as if the sound itself were the flat of the blade being scraped down the small of his back. It was as a splash of cold water is to a sleeper, but it was not necessarily an unwelcome splash. He rolled into the sound smoothly, seamlessly and shook off whatever gentle peace might have occupied his thoughts scant moments before. Now he was silent, animal, hunter, hunting those that he assumed were hunting him, still as a lingering shadow in the darkness next to the far wall, a slight hollow in the well warmed straw the only sign to mark his passing.

  


Suddenly the shadows of his two supposed hunters were figured large against the far wall. They were silhouetted by the moonlight, struck out in sharp relief. One was tall and lanky, the other small and half-twisted, weight shifted to all one side. He favored his left foot and wore a sword at an ill angle on his right. The other man was holding a katana, sheath and all, quite awkwardly in his left hand. These men were not assassins. For a moment he quite wondered if they were perhaps there by mistake. Only a fool would send ill-tempered vagabonds after Seta Soujiro, even while he lacked overarching support as from a mentor like Shishio. He almost had a desire to openly confront them and ask their business. Perhaps they were just lost and looking for a mark elsewhere.

  


But then the short one moved without a word and drew sharp-soft from his scabbard and struck the hollow in the straw where Soujiro had been less than a second before. The light in the interior of the barn was dim, and as such the intruder did not realize that he had struck nothing but straw for a full two seconds. By that time, Soujiro had accomplished two things.

  


First: he had come to the conclusion that there were still fools in the world.

  


Second: he had moved with the swiftness and grace of a sylph until he now stood directly behind the lanky assailant.

  


The twisted man, suddenly realizing that he had not struck any sort of killing blow at all (except perhaps, to a bit of chaff) grunted suddenly and loudly as if to call attention to the fact that his sword was now embedded to the hilt in straw. The taller man cursed loudly and with a marked Kyoto accent. Interesting. That would bear investigation.

  


Soujiro was about to further his investigation when, suddenly roused by all the commotion created by their less than elegant stalkers, Kuri started straight up from the nest she'd made in the hay and he was suddenly reminded that he had more than one obligation in this affair.

  


She looked witless, hair mussed and crowned with both straw and cherry blossoms, eyes wide and mouth open in a voiceless scream as she realized that the man standing almost over her was holding a naked sword which glimmered dully in the filtering moonlight.

  


Soujiro moved without thought, throwing the lanky man off balance with a light shove, and transposing himself between her and the sword without any complex deliberations. It was what he had to do. It was the only thing to do. He drew, flowing with his natural forward momentum, and his katana caught the shorter blade halfway up, notching the blade and throwing it off with a bracing protest.

  


The ringing of the metal shook Kuri into action, and she almost fell over herself scuttling backwards. She hit the piecemeal wall before she'd managed to backpedal any reasonable distance, and shied up against it, trying to make sense of the situation. Soujiro, her Soujiro, was standing with his sword drawn, having just thrown off the blade of another man, one who'd apparently been ready to strike her dead as she slept. There was another man in the straw, now scrabbling to his feet, and he too had a drawn sword. There were more naked blades in this small enclosed space than she had ever seen in the entirety of her life, and more danger bound up in the men that carried them than any she had every experienced. This she realized all in the breadth of a painful moment before drawing in her breath sharply, the force of her realization strong enough to overrule her survival instinct that bid her be silent and small and hope that they took no notice of her.

  


Her soft little cry drew the attention of both the strange men, their heads inclining slightly in her direction. Soujiro stood calm and assured of himself in the middle of it all, the darkness obscuring his face, keeping his thoughts from her, his soft, sweet voice the only measure of comfort she was allowed.

  


"Run."

  


At first she wasn't sure that the command was directed at her. It might as easily have been a threat, a challenge issued to the two men. She remained frozen, eyes wide and near sightless, shocked into stillness. There was nothing on heaven nor earth that could have induced her to move.

  


"Now."

  


Except the measured tremor that accompanied the sharpness of his command. She'd never heard his voice tremble so, as if it were on the verge of a nervous shriek . . . or perhaps a girlish giggle and this sudden trace betrayal of emotion was enough to spur her scrambling forward, on her hands and knees at first, through the straw and out into the standing maw of darkness.

  


There was desperation. Desperation in the tremor. Desperation and not a bland delight. Desperation from Soujiro. Had they killed him? Had they killed him already? Were they coming for her? Was he dead? If there hadn't been desperation, then why had he told her to run? She was running so hard, legs pumping against the uneven ground, running without direction, without guidance, running like a hare before hounds. Was he dead? Had they killed him? Were they coming? What would they do to her? Why? Why? Why? What was happening? Were they coming? Were they coming? They were coming, she could hear them behind her, the bad men. What would they do to her, when they caught her, rabbit run down by dogs? What would they do to her? What would . . . what would . . .

She threw on an extra burst of speed, desperate to escape, even as her heart hammered fit to burst. Running . . . running . . . They were coming, right behind her and she couldn't get away, had nowhere to run, no hole to dart down, and she stumbled over the uneven, rocky ground, falling face first into the grass and scrabbling desperately for purchase, raking hands raw against rock in a blind attempt to right herself, to get away, to run, god save her, if only she could run . . .

  


And then they were upon her.

  


The sprung trap was smooth: firm arms coming around her from behind and hauling her up, almost gently, with a rough-soft familiarity that she fought, struggling and twisting against them as hard as she could, as if they were a wire around her neck, a jaw trap on her leg, but to no avail. The arms held her silently and without apology and she soon fought her way into emotional exhaustion. Let it come, then. Death wasn't so terrible, if it was only death and if it wasn't . . . well she had expected no better a scant week ago. At least he'd given her a week to herself, spared her a week of his company. It was more than enough, and she was tired of running, tired of fighting against the unmoving, unemotional grip. She slumped still and let out a soft, desperate sob, biting it back the best she could, knowing that a dead animal is much less interesting to a fox than a live one. Maybe it would be fast . . .

  


"You covered more ground than I thought you would in five minutes," came the slightly distracted voice, soft with wonder and amusement.

  


Upon hearing his voice alive and quite well, she truly slumped and her legs gave out from under her, but he was quick to shift his weight under her. As he did, he turned her easily to face him and he was rewarded by her burying her face against his chest as she sobbed desperately, clinging to him as if he were the only thing steady she had to support herself against (which of course, he was).

  


After a long while in the moonlight, the shaking, coughing sobs began to subside, but she kept against him, her grip on his clothes tight, the creeping, intense fear still there. She was lost, so lost, and had no idea what to think or what to say so she remained silent, suddenly very shy.

  


Absently, he brought his free hand up to stroke her hair, although whether to comfort her or comfort himself, he could not say. As his arm brushed hers, something warm and sticky transferred itself and she scented blood clearly in the air. She shied from the smell, as any terrified animal will, but then she caught sight of the fresh bloodstain on his sleeve and began to stammer incoherently.

  


He followed her gaze thoughtfully and then guessed the source of her distress, "It's all right," he soothed, leaning close, nose lightly brushing against the bottom of her ear, even as his voice came breathy against it, "It's not mine. Next time, I'll try not to be so messy, since it frightens you."

  


Kuri's eyes dilated from distress and she pulled hard against him, leaning as far out of his grip as he would allow even as she finally managed to form the half sentence, half whisper she'd been trying to get her mouth around for some moments, " . . . killed them."

  


He froze against her as if suddenly coming to a realization and then softly answered, "Yes."

  


"Get away," she cried so pitifully, straining limply against his grip that he almost let her loose, "Killed them . . . killed them. You killed them," her sob was a broken, hurt thing.

  


Why now? Why had his hand been forced today, of all days, after he'd finally managed to begin to understand the nature of his life, after he'd finally begun to accept that he enjoyed her company and that doing so did not contradict the precepts of his journey. He had now alienated the only friend he had and the little boy inside him wept over it bitterly. 

  


"I had to kill them," he began softly, cupping her chin with his free hand so that perhaps she would look at him as he spoke, "They would've killed you, if I hadn't.

  


She didn't fight the guiding hand, and after a moment had gathered enough courage to look him full in the face, although she was still terrified at what she might find there: something alien and predatory, some horrible doppleganger who'd come to take the place of her blessedly bland and pleasant Soujiro.

  


She found no monster in his face, only a passing sort of sorrow and unspent tears.

  


"Ha-have you done it before?" she felt so tiny in his arms, although she knew that he was scarcely any bigger than she was.

  


He searched her eyes before responding softly, almost as an afterthought, "Yes."

  


She brought her hands up to her face, covering her eyes as if to blind herself from what had happened, as if she could simply erase it and they could go back to living the way they had before, he as a boy and she has his companion. Now he was outlined in mystery and danger, an almost supernatural force. God, she'd been treating him as an equal!

  


"Soujiro-kun," she started awkwardly, "No, Soujiro-san; Seta-san, I'm sorry, you must forgive me. I don't, I don't know what to call you now, sir."

  


His voice was gentle and smooth as silk as he gently pulled her hands away from her face to look at her, "Soujiro-kun. Call me Soujiro-kun."

  


"But . . ." she struggled against herself, trying to regain control, but then he hushed her again absently.

  


"I like it," he murmured almost into her hair, and it was as if he considered the discussion closed.

  


She leaned against him, seeking something: comfort, stability, safety; something desperately. It was unclear whether she found it, but after a while, she slowly began to relax against him.

  


After some time, he felt it safe to address her again and did so quietly, dreading her response, "Kuri-san?"

  


"Yes?" her voice was small in the dark.

  


"Are you still coming with me?" he asked, and did not breath for a beat while the question hung impotent in the air.

  


Her answer was some seconds coming, as if she herself did not know how to respond. In the end, she realized that she had no choice to make. He was all she had. She laughed nervously, in an attempt to cover the awkward pause, "Of course I am. I told you that if you ever leave me behind, I'll hunt you until the day that I die."

  


He laughed softly, something else ill-concealed behind it, "Yes, I'd almost forgotten." 

  


The silence held for a while longer, but then she pressed it again, seeking answers to questions she did not even know if she had the right to ask, "Why did those men want to . . . why did they try to hurt us?"

  


Soujiro shook his head and answered, "I don't know, but I believe they were here to deliver a message."

  


"What . . . what kind of message?"

  


He cradled her close to him before answering, "I'm not sure exactly what kind of message, but I do know one thing."

  


"What's that?"

  


He breathed in the familiar scent of her one last time before releasing her to stand on her own.

  


"We're going to Kyoto."

  


*

  


To be continued in revised chapter six: _Brotherly Love: If Wishes Were Horses,_ and yes, this marks a renewed interest in the Tears and Rain continuity. You might actually see _Raindrops_, if you're lucky XD.


	6. Brotherly Love: If Wishes Were Horses

Tears and Rain

  


Chapter Six -- Brotherly Love: If Wishes Were Horses

  


By Gabi (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

  


There are few things that are more comforting to a confused heart than comfort foods, and while Kuri had little experience with poultry as a comfort food, having mainly subsisted on rice and vegetables for the majority of her life, she found it was something of a lifesaver now. She couldn't quite remember if it had been her suggestion or Soujiro's which had led them to dine at this particular establishment, but she felt a swelling sort of peaceful satisfaction from the meal, which was the first bit of roast chicken she had ever eaten. Silently, she said a little blessing for the aged fowl who'd given his life to ease her mind and the innkeeper who'd decided that it was his time to go in the first place.

  


She shifted slightly, unused to sitting still for such an inordinate amount of time and cast a shy glance at Soujiro. She was still unsure exactly how to classify him, especially in relation to her. He had protected her, looked out for her, and been a softly reserved kind of a gentle that she had never experienced before. He had been everything she could have wished him to be: thoughtful, considerate, polite, handsome, and very careful of her . . . and yet . . . He had slain two men without thought and without obvious remorse. Of course, considering the way she was forced to read between the lines for the rest of his emotional state, he might be lost in a bog of self-loathing and she would be none the wiser. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She was slowly learning to read the tics and nuances of his bland wall of emotional pleasantries, but it was slow going and after her experiences some nights ago she had begun to seriously wonder if she _wanted_ to see what he was hiding behind that mask. But then . . . even now she felt for him, felt for the little boy he seemed to be half the time, and felt for the sweetly stoic man he presented himself to be the rest of the time. She wanted to know him, to know him as himself. She . . .

  


He was a good boy. She knew that. No matter what, no matter if blood rained from the sky or dripped slowly from his sleeves, he was good to her, and she found that in the end, that's all she really cared about. What had she expected in the first place? He did carry a sword. It wasn't for show. It wasn't a taunt at the police. For some reason, it was _who he was_.

  


And she could accept that.

  


She could accept him.

  


She did accept him.

  


Even if he didn't want . . . 

  


"I've heard Kyoto is really big," she interrupted their comfortable silence awkwardly with an observation that was less than intellectually stunning. She didn't care what he thought of it, it filled up the silence and kept her from _thinking_ too much. 

  


"It is," he answered pleasantly, absently discreetly transferring some of the chicken from his plate onto hers, which she had cleaned fairly quickly. For his part, he enjoyed listening to her talk. Her words filled up the silences of his life and gave him something to distract himself with when his toils began to seem Sisyphean in nature and duration. She had become as steady a comfort for him as the roast chicken was to her. The chicken itself was no real comfort for him. While he hadn't had enough money to indulge recently, he'd had it often enough while playing the prince of Shishio's bitter empire and it had lost any kind of simple pleasure he might have found in it. In some dim part of his mind he could almost catch hold of the ghost memory of the first time he'd eaten chicken. It had been in his first days as Shishio's constant shadow. A man in a lonely farmhouse had furnished that dinner, but not of his own accord. Soujiro didn't like to dwell too closely on those early memories. The early ones were all blood-bloated because at that point he hadn't learned how to filter out the blood; he hadn't learned how to deal with it purely logical terms. It had struck him deeply, even if he had covered it up, hiding tears in the rain until they no longer came.

  


But he had still eaten the chicken. 

  


"Will there be beautiful ladies there? I've heard that there a beautiful ladies in Kyoto who can play the shamisen. I've head someone play the shamisen one time, this guy stopped at the inn over night once, and he had one, but he wasn't very good at it. Do you think we might hear someone play? It sounds so nice."

  


When she spoke to him, he could forget that he'd eaten the chicken, at least for a time. He could taste _this_ chicken without also tasting that other chicken in every bite. Without tasting the blood.

  


"We might, Kuri-san. I like the shamisen too. If I can, I'll try to make sure we hear someone play."

  


She leaned forward a little, obviously excited by the prospect and looked as if she were about to say something when suddenly she pitched forward, thrown almost into her plate by a large man who had stumbled into her. She was quick to react, splaying her fingers wide on the table to brace herself and keep both her clothing and her dinner safe. She whirled immediately, quite threatened and unsure of what was going on.

  


The man who had so carelessly trod upon her was standing at a strange angle, listing as a ship will do when there is no one at the tiller. He was unshaven and smelled of cheap liquor to such an overpowering degree that it wasn't particularly difficult to guess why he had stumbled into her. As he stood, leaning precariously, he grabbed onto his crotch as if this were a reasonable way to steady himself.

  


As Kuri whirled, he spat at her and then growled, "Watch where you're going!"

  


For some years Kuri had been possessed of something that all her elders had referred to as "a mouth." This mouth seemed remarkably different from those of other girls her age purely due to its tendency to react swiftly and without thought to consequences. It was this mouth that had nearly gotten her killed at the inn less than a month previously, and it was this mouth which fully took over her faculties of speech the moment the huge man had spat at her.

  


Kuri knew that it was unwise to insult a towering drunk. Her mouth did not care.

  


"I can't watch where I'm going when I'm not going anywhere! You're the one who stepped on me, you lummox! Why don't you watch where you're going, or are you too busy holding onto that, " here she gestured quite rudely to the lumpy package under his hand, "because you're afraid it'll fall off?"

  


Soujiro blinked. Had Kuri just said what he thought she'd said?

  


The brute understood what she'd said well enough and he moved faster than Kuri would've thought for a man that size who was that inebriated. He seized her by the shoulder and picked her up as if she were nothing, twisting her arm hard behind her back until he forced a desperate squeal out of her.

  


"You cry like a girl, little man. You cry too fast to talk to me that way," the man snarled, tightening his grip on her even further and causing her to squeal again, "You apologize or I'll give you a new elbow, you understand?"

  


Despite its earlier willingness to tell the man exactly what if felt like saying, Kuri's mouth apparently had no desire to offer an apology despite the strained traction she was obviously in. 

  


"I said, do you understand?" he gripped harder, "When I speak to you, you answer me, boy."

  


Soujiro was frozen perfectly still, reading the man's movements. He was not as drunk as he appeared and Soujiro could feel that there was a sword strapped to his leg, hidden under his hakama. The rest of the diners were similarly frozen, watching the scene play out, but perhaps they were frozen for different reasons. Soujiro was reading the sword callouses on his left hand. This man was a killer, not formally trained, yet still deadly enough in his own way, and he had Kuri in a vicious sort of embrace. Soujiro felt decidedly . . . _strange_.

  


"Let him go, Drunkard-san. I'll make sure he doesn't bother you any more," he murmured pleasantly, unwilling to let the trump card of Kuri's gender fall lest it drive the man further, push him to snap for the sheer pleasure of it, as Usui had done.

  


The drunk turned to look at Soujiro levelly, or as least as levelly as he could manage despite the list. He was apparently not very threatened, "I'm not letting him go until he answers me real respectful like. He'll squeal until he talks."

  


Soujiro moved gracefully, placing his sheathed masterwork katana on the table in front of him before speaking again, "I don't believe you understand the situation, Drunkard-san," Soujiro murmured, still the paragon of manners as he flicked a fraction of the blade from its sheath with his left hand, "I don't want to hurt you and I'm sure that you don't want to hurt him enough to take a blade for it. Put him down."

  


Kuri caught the glitter of the exposed sliver of blade and suddenly thrashed, biting her lip hard, "No, Soujiro-kun, not here, not now. _Please_. Please, Drunkard-san, put me down. Please don't make him. _Please_."

  


At this fresh burst of action, the man twisted hard again and Kuri felt something small in her arm give way and she cried out despite herself, a painful whimper. As her eyes teared up she desperately looked for Soujiro, to beg him again, not to, not here, but she couldn't find him. He was suddenly gone as if he'd never been there and she found herself alone under the hands of a man who had just broken her arm.

  


And then she was loose, tumbling to the floor like a bundle sticks falling every which way. As she landed, curling protectively over her arm, she felt the heavy bulk of the drunkard land close at her left with the weight of a dead tree.

  


At first she was afraid to look, afraid to see the mess of red, afraid to see it dripping so casually from Soujiro's arm, from his mouth as he spoke, from the man at his feet, but then she felt his hand gently on her shoulder, pulling her close and helping her to her feet again and she knew that she had to look. No matter what was there, she had to look. She owed it to him.

  


There wasn't any blood, and as she realized this she squeezed his arm despite herself, as if giving him some sort of reward for his intervention not ending in mass slaughter. Soujiro gets a gold star for not killing anyone at all today! He didn't react to the squeeze and she reflected that he probably wasn't interested in how she felt about his methods of problem solving in the first place. She might as well keep her gold stars to herself.

  


The drunk lay unconscious at her feet, apparently having been knocked so by a carefully placed blow from Soujiro's sheath. As they stood over him, their waitress approached carefully. She took one look at the man lying prone on the floor and Kuri caught a look of relief cross her face before she launched into a flurry of apologies.

  


"Thank you, sir. I'm terribly sorry he bothered you, sir. He's been hanging around here the past couple of days, claiming that he was looking for work. He didn't seem to be hurting anyone, so we let him stay, hoping he'd find a job soon and leave," she bit her lip, "If you don't mind, could you help me drag him outside? Then we can lock the doors for the night and perhaps he'll be gone in the morning."

  


Soujiro bowed simply and nodded at the waitress, "Thank you, but I'll put him outside myself."

  


The he proceeded to easily shoulder the huge man and carry him to the main doors of the establishment without visible effort while Kuri stood wide-eyed and watched, still cradling her arm against herself. After a few moments he returned and nodded at the waitress who took a long key out of her pocket and went to attend to the door. He'd left the drunk by the well in the yard, where he'd at least be able to get water if he needed it in the night, which was certainly more courtesy than the man had intended Kuri. 

  


She didn't shy away from him when he approached again, and this was somehow satisfying. Now he would attend to her. His touch was gentle as he carefully pulled her arm away from chest and then went over it with sensitive fingers, feeling for things that might have been twisted or broken out of place. He clucked his tongue softly. It had seemed much worse than it actually was. 

  


"It's only a light sprain," he remarked cheerfully, "Nothing's broken. If I bind it up tightly, it should be better in less than a week."

  


She let out an exhale of relief and he turned to the waitress who had by this time finished locking the door and requested some bandages. She swiftly complied and he was soon busy with Kuri's wrist steadied between his knees. Years in Shishio's service had made him more than adequate at binding wounds. When one lived at the right hand of a man who was a living fifth-degree burn, one learned how to do such things.

  


It was just as he was finishing the binding that the gentleman came up quietly behind him.

  


"Pardon me, might I have a word with you?"

  


Soujiro turned politely, releasing Kuri's arm back into her own custody. The man was elderly, bent almost double and leaning heavily on a cane, but he was quite clean and well-dressed. Soujiro marked him as one of the other guests who had sat and watched the altercation without a word.

  


"How may I help you?" he asked amiably, folding his arms into his sleeves.

  


The elderly man cocked his head to the side for a moment as if considering something before continuing, "You see, I was thinking about hiring that man that you so handily dealt with a few moments ago."

  


Interesting.

  


"I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you, but he left me very little choice," Soujiro bowed in deference even as he apologized. It was always good to dot your i's and cross your t's, especially when it wasn't clear what the situation was, exactly.

  


The elderly man spread his hands wide as if in dismissal, "Oh no, I certainly don't blame you for that. You had ever right to react the way that you did. If I had been a little younger and perhaps a bit more spry I would've done the same thing, but time robs men of their initiative," he laughed and it was a pleasant sound, simple and honest , "In fact, I think you have done me a great service, not a hindrance."  
  
"I am happy to have obliged, although I am not sure I understand you," Soujiro was somewhat perplexed by this gentleman. He seemed to have some interest in them, but what that interest was, Soujiro had absolutely no idea. It just didn't make very good sense for a man to thank someone who'd just KO'ed a possible employee.

  


"From the sword that you carry, might I assume that you're a samurai? I have to say, it's good to see one, especially in this day and age," the man answered.

  


Ah, now this was beginning to make sense.

  


"I'm a ronin," Soujiro corrected benignly. He had no antiquated hereditary or class claim to the sword he carried, only the sure knowledge of the skill and birthright that made him deadlier than men who called themselves generals and masters.

  


"Masterless, then?" the old man asked, "Are you on a journey?"

  


"Yes." That was plain enough from the worn look of his clothes and the thinness of his zori soles.

  


"Are you headed to Kyoto, perhaps?"

  


And the pieces fell into place.

"Yes."

  


"Then I have a business proposition for you."

  


Of course he did.

  


"Will you come and sit with me? Humor an old man long enough for him to tell you his dreams and you'll have done your good deed for the day."

  


If he bothered to mentally consult his deed chart, Soujiro knew that he would find the 'good' column virtually unmarred by marks. It cost him nothing to humor the old man, who seemed harmless enough, so he went to sit with him at his table. Kuri followed as quiet (although nearly as fidgety) as a mouse and seated herself to his right.

  


The elderly man settled himself on the ground heavily and then sighed in a relaxed fashion before leaning forward and folding his hands on the table.

  


"I am a horse merchant by trade and I have been one for over forty years. I was raised on horseback and my mother used to tell me fondly that I was born a-horsed. They're beautiful animals. I love them and they also happen to be how I make my living. I am a lucky man. Most people don't get the chance to live among the things that they love and fewer still ever have the chance of making a difference in the world. I have that chance.

  


"Recently, I was in Yokohama on business, and while I was there I happened to make the acquaintance of another horse merchant, a Dutchman who is also a textile shipper. He told me that he was trading European horses ashore as breeding stock and then he showed me one of the finest specimens of horseflesh that I have ever seen. It was a big stallion, five hands or more taller than the largest of my finest breeding stock. He was a beautiful deep bay color and strong like an ox, but with slender little legs and delicate feet. 

  


"Naturally, the moment that I saw him, I told the merchant that I'd have the pick of the next shipment. They arrived in port two weeks ago, twenty-two in all, and all fine and healthy as the one he'd shown me on the ship. I've brought my best men to handle them, all sensible lads who've worked for me for years, but I never considered the outside element. These animals are treasures from halfway around the world and they cost a good fortune and I am only halfway home with no one to stand should we encounter any . . . unsavory elements. My men are good men, but they're farmers and beast-handlers, all of them. I need a man who can handle a weapon. I don't expect trouble, but I'd like to be prepared for it should the need arise.

  


"You seem like a trustworthy individual, moreso than the gentleman I was considering, certainly. I'd be willing to pay you well, furnish you with mounts, and provide for your food and shelter all the way to Kyoto if you'd simply agree to ride with me." 

  


Soujiro opened his mouth to politely decline and explain that one sword did little against a horde of bandits. This was true in theory, even if it didn't apply in this case. Soujiro could have more than adequately protected the little caravan from all but a questing rurouni, but he had no desire to involve the gentleman and his stable of horses in his affairs. There were very likely more men after him, and he intended to stick to the smaller back roads on his way back to Kyoto, not go parading up the Tokaido road with a circus of horses behind him.

  


Of course, this is the impression that Soujiro intended to impart. Kuri apparently had different ideas and after minding her manners very well for such a long time, she could restrain herself no longer, especially when she sensed that Soujiro was going to decline an offer from heaven for reasons that she could not understand.

  


"We'll do it!" she cried enthusiastically, smacking her fist into her palm in a way that she intended to signify that the matter was closed, but that really only ended up hurting her wrist. She concealed it as best she could in an attempt to keep it from ruining the effect she had intended. 

  


The old man smiled politely at her and then his gaze went back to Soujiro. Soujiro did not look convinced and seemed rather startled by her outburst. She elbowed him as discreetly as possible.

  


"Soujiro-kun, free food, a free place to sleep, and horses! We'll get to Kyoto much faster riding than walking! Don't be an idiot!" she whispered fiercely, elbowing him again for good measure.

  


Silently, he considered her case (elbowed assertions aside) and then considered a piece of advice that Shishio had once shared: the best place to hide is often in plain sight. If someone were tracking him, then they'd expect him to avoid the main thoroughfare, especially after being attacked once already. They would not expect him to continue to take the Tokaido road and they would not be looking for a guardsman on horseback. They'd be searching for a lone traveler who slept in haystacks and abandoned barns.

  


"Of course, I'll provide a horse for your brother as well," added the old gentleman, in an attempt to sweeten a deal that already tasted of confection.

  


This last addition caused Kuri to halt her aggressive elbowing and she turned to the elder gentleman, mouth slightly slack and looked as if she might say something. Soujiro elbowed her back once, gently, and she kept her mouth shut.

  


They certainly wouldn't be looking for a mounted guardsman traveling with his younger brother.

  


"I am honored by your offer," Soujiro bowed slightly, a simple nod of his head, "We accept."

  


"Splendid, then we'll set out for the camp first thing in the morning. It's just a short piece down the road."

  


Soujiro nodded and he felt Kuri shift uncomfortably behind him, but he ignored her. Later, when they bedded down for the night, alone in the common room, she finally voiced her silent question.

  


"Why didn't you tell him?"

  


His answer was simple.

  


"Because it's easier this way."  
  
And it was. It was easier thinking of her that way, neatly labeling her and boxing her, containing her, containing his relationship with her, giving it a corollary he could easily understand, that he could classify, that wouldn't bother him so much late at night.

  


"I understand," she chirped cheerfully, resolved to help him in any way that she could.

  


But she did not.

  


*

  


To be continued in Tears and Rain (Revisited) Seven – _The Road to Kyoto: Under the Protection of a Demon_

  


  


  



End file.
